Virtue
by bibliotech
Summary: “Welcome back, congratulations on not dying. Do you have to come back from every planet a walking soil sample?”


Title: Virtue  
Author: bibliotech  
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard  
Disclaimer: Not mine, this never, ever happened, I don't own these characters. 100 fiction.  
Summary: _"Welcome back, congratulations on not dying. Do you have to come back from every planet a walking soil sample?"_

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The first time was after a mission. One of those natives-that-weren't-so-peaceful and maybe-there-was-a-little-altercation and it wasn't quite we-should've-died-but-hey-we-didn't, just close. Somehow, John had always expected moments like this to happen post-Wraith siege, or post-nuclear weapons. One of the Really Bad Things that seemed to happen more and more these days. Hell, these were just a few gunshots. He hadn't spent more than fifteen, twenty minutes in the infirmary—that barely counted.

But they'd made it back with minor scrapes and bruises, and John silently vowing not to bother with any other planets that were inhabited by people with spears. Big, pointy spears. _Very_ pointy spears. He was very anti-spear as of right now. He figured that Rodney would've been complaining louder than any of them, but he'd been strangely silent on the way back. And during the post-briefing. So when he followed John back to his room, John figured that now he was going to hear all about it. Possibly accompanied with flailing and hand-waving and somewhat high-pitched shrieking.

Instead, John found himself pushed up against his wall and Rodney's lips on his and one of Rodney's hands cupping the back of his head and another one of his hands creeping under his shirt and was that a third hand on his hip and how many hands did this guy have? And then he stopped trying to count and just went with it.

John was very good at just going with things. It was one of his virtues.

The second time was a little different.

This time, they had spears _and_ guns. "Maybe the spears were just a warm-up," Ford suggested on their way to the infirmary. Ford, the lucky bastard, was just fine. A few scratches, but otherwise okay. Meanwhile, John looked like he'd been through a war. And then rolled around in the dirt afterwards for good measure. Carson made his usual disapproving noises, and John was confined to his rooms after two (failed) attempts to leave the infirmary.

Rodney was in his lab when they left—and probably when they came back. He'd said something earlier about a brilliant idea and being surrounded by incompetents and not to bother him unless the entire city was seconds away from certain death. So when John thought open his door (and that was pretty handy when you were busy using your hands to, well, support your ribs and all that) and found Rodney already there, he couldn't help but be just a little surprised.

"What the hell, Rodney?"

Okay, maybe more than a little.

He waved away John's question, continuing to type on his laptop. "Welcome back, congratulations on not dying. Do you have to come back from every planet a walking soil sample?"

"I was going to take a shower," John said dryly, sitting on the bed with a sigh. He looked down at his boots. They hadn't seemed that far away this morning. Of course, this morning he hadn't cracked a rib. He sighed again, a little louder this time and following it up with a stoic look. That "I'm in terrible pain, but I'm a tough guy, I can handle it" look.

A look that was completely wasted since Rodney continued to type, ignoring him completely.

"So, is there a reason you're here?" He let just a little irritation creep into his voice. A _little_ attention wouldn't hurt. And some food. Food would be nice. And a shower. And then a nap. Not that having Rodney here to…type…wasn't all kinds of helpful, but it wasn't as good as food.

Another "shoo, shoo" kind of wave as he finished whatever he'd been working on and closed his laptop, finally turning around to give John his full attention. "I'm checking up on you? I just thought I'd multitask while I was at it, since there's nothing I can do for you medically and knowing you, you probably need someone here to make sure that at the very least, you actually stay in your room instead of doing something stupid like oh, I don't know, going for a run with broken ribs or trying to—"

"They're not broken!" John felt the need to point out. "Just one. And 'cracked' isn't the same as 'broken', anyhow."

"—the _point_," Rodney threw out, giving John a dirty look, "is that you have no sense of self-preservation. So I'm here to see that you don't leave this room." He leaned back in his chair, his expression smug.

John continued to watch him, knowing that absolute silence was the best way to get Rodney McKay to tell you anything you wanted to know. God help them all if he ever got kidnapped. Five minutes of the silent treatment, and they'd be doomed.

"What?"

"So, why are you here, then?" He slowly lowered himself back on the bed, closing his eyes with a loud groan. If it wasn't for his boots, this would be just about perfect. And the whole dirty/hungry/banged up parts, too.

"I told you why." Even with his eyes closed, John could detect that slight hesitation that said he wasn't exactly telling the truth. He would've sat up to give him another Look, but that would require too much effort.

"Does this have anything to do with the other day?" This was the first time he'd mentioned…whatever had happened between them. When John woke up, Rodney was gone, and they hadn't been alone since. He hadn't changed in any way—his body language, conversation and everything else was just the same as always. Maybe he didn't meet John's eyes as often as he used to, but John couldn't be sure about that.

"What? No. No, no, of course not, why would it? That was…" Rodney's voice was definitely getting high-pitched, and John couldn't help but smile just a little. He was tempted to teach Rodney how to tell a decent lie, but that would just spoil his fun.

"That was…what?"

"It was…" And now he just knew that the hands were going again, gesturing uselessly in some kind of hapless pantomime.

"It was fun?" John offered. Maybe it was the day he'd had, but that nap was starting to take higher priority over the possibility of food. If he could just figure out what to do about his boots…

A pause. "It was?"

John frowned, starting to sit up and wincing slightly at the effort. "What, it wasn't for you? Why the hell'd you do it, then?"

"Well, no, of course it was, but it was—you know, there was a lot of adrenaline, and then I—and we—"

This was no use. He was going to have to sit up after all. Sighing, he managed to push himself up onto his elbows, giving Rodney a doubtful look. "I would've thought you were here to try it again, but I'm not really up for it just now, if you know what I mean."

He had a brief second before the words registered, and he realized the mistake he'd made. He knew that these things happened to everyone—fight-or-flight, leftover energy from dangerous situations. All of that extra energy had to be channeled somewhere and sex was as good as anything else. These things just happened.

But from Rodney's startled blue eyes, he was starting to see that this wasn't one of those things that _just happened_.

"But—" and he had to say something, anything, before Rodney stammered out some kind of excuse and disappeared. This wasn't something they could just smooth over and just forget about. And John didn't like the idea of what would happen if they found themselves in a situation they couldn't smooth over and forget about. And he definitely didn't like the way it made him feel to even think about the type of situation they couldn't smooth over and just forget about.

So he did the only thing he could. Going back to his first Look, he wiggled a foot at Rodney. "Help me with my boots? Please?"

And if there was a little more to this Look—if it had a little _I'm sorry, I was never good at figuring these things out_ and _I really don't want you to go just yet_ mixed in there, well. He was tired and injured, after all. He couldn't be blamed for it. And if Rodney's Look held more than just a little relief, mixed in with some confusion and hesitation—well, if he was smiling a little, it was because finally, he was going to get those damn boots off so he could get some sleep. That was all.

Satisfied, he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. He could hear Rodney muttering something about not being anyone's personal slave, but he could also feel his hands starting to undo the laces. Typical Rodney. After a few more complaints, his feet were free. He'd worry about the rest later. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep for a week.

"Ah—do you want me to--?"

"Nah," John mumbled, his voice already blurry. "C'mere." He made a vague grabbing motion, shifting slightly to one side of the bed. Ignoring the slight stab of pain the motion brought, he opened one eye. "I changed my list around."

"You had a list?" There was the hint of a smile on Rodney's face; just the slightest curve of his lips. John knew he was being indulged, but he didn't care.

"Mm-hm. Shower, food, sleep, and…uh. There could've been sex in there, but that was somewhere after the 'stop feeling like shit' part. But sleep got moved up to the top. Sorry."

"Right." The bed dipped as Rodney sat next to him. Pulling the covers over John's shoulders before slipping in to his side. Rolling over to face him. He didn't need to see it, he already knew. "I'm afraid that a shower is still going to have to take precedence over sex, Major. Not that the whole 'hair full of leaves' thing doesn't work for you. Very retro."

"Yeah," John sighed. Rodney was like his own personal furnace. Warm and nice and warm and didn't shut up ever and very, very warm. He hadn't noticed that last time. Of course, they hadn't done much sleeping last time.

Which, by the way… "Why didn't you stay last time?"

The silence that followed was enough to force his eyes open. Well, at least the "I can't believe how stupid you can be" look was better than the "This really hurt my feelings" look from before. He was used to the first one; everyone got that look at least once a day.

"Because…that was different."

"Different how?"

Rodney shrugged, suddenly very interested in a corner of his pillow. "It just was. There was a lot of running—which I'm not fond of, by the way—and yelling and we almost died—again, which I am really starting to have issues with—and we were just…still trying to come down from it all."

"Mmhm." He winced, slowly rolling onto his back. "That's what I thought." Turning his head, he looked over at Rodney, who was still focusing on the threadcount of his pillow. "Last time, anyway."

"Last time?" That pillow must've been absolutely fascinating.

"Yeah. Last time." He looked up at the ceiling, resisting the urge to whistle. He wanted to count down in his head, but that would be cheating.

"And now?" John didn't have to look over to know that Rodney's eyes were on him instead of the pillow. The irritation in his voice gave him away.

Giving Rodney his sweetest smile—the "I'm nice to babies and old ladies" one that usually managed to charm the women and piss off his superior officers—John reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Has anyone ever told you that you're very warm?"

Rodney blinked. "Uh…well, no. Abrasive, yes. Warm? Not rea—"

"Nonono. Like a furnace." Sleep was creeping higher and higher on the agenda. But this was almost as good. "Very, very warm."

"Oh. Well. Thank you?"

"I think I'm all out of adrenaline," John said with a small sigh.

"I could tel—"

"But you should still stay. You never know, it could come back. Some day. Maybe twice a day."

"What are you—oh. _Oh_."

"Yeah." A huge yawn that nearly smothered him. "You should just hang around, make sure you're there when it happens. Y'know. Just in case. Something."

Amazing how he could actually _hear_ Rodney raise a brow. Or maybe he was already dreaming. "I think I could do that."

He started to say something—it might've been about spears, because those things really _hurt_--but the next thing he knew, it was morning and there weren't enough sheets because Rodney was wrapped up in them and sleeping sideways and John had somehow ended up with ¼ of the bed to Rodney's ¾ and his pillow was gone and he added "sleeping with Rodney" to his list, somewhere near "sex with Rodney" and "arguing with Rodney", but still below "food" and "shower". A man had to have some priorities in life.

And when Rodney woke up—in stages, with lots of blinking and eye-rubbing and arm-stretching and then the inevitable "I can't believe this! You were shedding dirt in your _sleep_. This place looks like a rainforest!"—he decided it would be a lot easier to forget about his list altogether and just go with it.

He was very good at just going with things. It was one of his virtues.


End file.
